Unexpected
by KMREE
Summary: Edith has moved to London with her daughter, but receives some unexpected news.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. Final season starts tonight! I sincerely hope they sort poor Edith's storyline out but, in the meantime, here's something I've been musing on - Edith and Marigold's life in London.**

Edith Crawley had very little to complain about in her life. Whilst the introduction of Marigold to her parents, and the subsequent revelation of her true identity, certainly hadn't been a walk in the park they had (against her prediction) exceeded all expectations and had helped Marigold's transition to Downton with apparent ease.

Her parents being on her side certainly helped quash any malignant rumours about Marigold's true parentage. There were so many orphans following years of war and the Spanish 'flu that no-one could really find out where she actually came from anyway, which meant she could be installed in the nursery of Downton and into the fabric of the household with very little trouble. It was the best possible childhood Edith could have hoped for her daughter - spending her formative years with four generations of family, alongside her cousins in the same house her mother had grown up in. She got to experience the full glory of a privileged childhood with all the attendant joys and care.

Life at Downton had continued in that was for a few years. Edith was grateful to be able to raise Marigold in such comfort, so close to family, but it couldn't be forever. With Tom and Sybbie across the Atlantic and Mary's recent decision to finally stop stringing her puppy-dog suitors along and marry Charles Blake, Edith had ended up as what her parents had always anticipated for her - perennially single and living with her ageing parents. What had not been expected was Marigold.

But for Edith that life wasn't enough. More than anything she wanted Marigold to experience real life, not grow up in a gilded cage. It wouldn't be her lifestyle when she was older after all. She wanted travel, adventure, independence, the whole world for her to explore, not simply sit and wait. Michael's will had left her in complete control of his property (with a small provision for the care of his wife) leaving Edith a relatively wealthy woman, and in complete control of _The Sketch._

That was the life she wanted Marigold to have as an adult. To experience independence and the fulfilment of wishes beyond simply pretty dresses and balls. To have a real life, a life divorced from social status and titles. Marigold was officially known as the Honourable Marigold Rosamund Crawley. In the absence of a birth certificate (one that could be publicly shown anyway) her family had helped invent her background and have her legally adopted by Edith which meant the honorific was her right. Edith would have preferred for her daughter not to have it, except for the fact that it proved her absolute acceptance by her family. She was glad of that at least.

Marigold was nearly ten when Edith decided to move permanently to London. She had tried to base herself in Yorkshire, and oversee things at the newspaper from a distance but the travelling was not conducive to a restful life, and she constantly felt torn between being a bad mother and a bad employer, only being able to half be with her daughter and her business. Her initial intent to be an 'editor from afar' and appoint a man to deal with the day-to-day running of the newspaper wasn't ideal. She felt that if she was truly to take on the responsibility she should be there in person. And she liked the London life. Marigold's existence showed that she was not the type to settle into a quiet country life. She liked the hustle and bustle, not to mention the anonymity that city life afforded her. Marigold had certainly spent a lot of time in the capital. Between Edith's business trips and frequent visits to her great-aunt Rosamund, London was enough of a second home to her to make the move reasonably easy.

In addition, Edith wanted to be independent of her family. Nothing could be better than the feeling of coming home to one's own home, to be mistress of her own (admittedly rather modest) establishment and be treated as such. Edith had sold Michael's flat several years before, she couldn't bear the memories living there would evoke, and had bought a small third-floor flat in Bloomsbury outright. She adored her new home. The one place she could feel truly at home and herself. She had decorated it all herself, with simple furniture, muted tones and papered walls in stark contrast to the deep jewel-colours and ornate fussiness she had grown up with.

The park was within walking distance, as was Marigold's school. Her mother had made a half-hearted attempt to persuade Edith to either allow them to pay for a governess, or a boarding school for their youngest grandchild, both of which she had refused. Nobody ever learnt anything from a governess anyway, and she didn't want Marigold exposed to the snobbery inherent in British boarding-schools. Marigold had soon settled into her new life - something her mother was glad of. There were no awkward questions about her parentage, nor any pressure on Edith to conform to the life others had decreed for her. The new life suited both of them, as did their new home.

It was at that address that she received the first reminder in some time of her previous life. She had been living for so long as simply 'Edith Crawley, editor' that her title was almost alien to her. So when a letter arrived with _Lady Edith Crawley_ in intricate curlicue across the front she had a vague sense of foreboding. Her family, with the exception of a duty letter from her mother every so often, left her alone for the most part. When they were in London she had to visit them of course but otherwise they seemed to prefer to forget her 'other life' in London. She hadn't followed the path set out for her, by way of a husband with an estate and children, and so they would rather turn a blind eye to her alternative lifestyle and let her get on with it.

As it wasn't her mother's careful script on the front of the letter, nor any another hand she recognised, she truly had no idea who would be contacting her in her new house but under her old name.

Frowning slightly she tore open the seal and unfolded the paper. Then frowned deeper. Whatever she had been expecting _this_ was certainly not it.


	2. Chapter 2

It had taken Edith a few days to reply to the letter. When she did, all she sent was a perfunctory note agreeing to the suggested meeting. She couldn't fathom why he had written to her but she supposed it would be better in the long run to go in person to see.

London was so beautiful in the springtime. She had always thought of herself as a country girl, born and bred, but the longer she lived in the metropolis, the more she came to appreciate the vivacity and drive of the city. Yes, there was a downside, the noise and pollution was something she could live without. Not that it permeated as far as the broad, leafy boulevards of Knightsbridge, where she currently was. She rarely came here, having no business in the palatial pillared mansions it contained. Her normal surroundings were the slightly more bohemian red-bricks of Bloomsbury.

She reached into her bag to double-check the address, and made her way up the gleaming white steps of the building in front of her. Speaking briefly to the receptionist she was directed to the first floor where mullioned windows overlooked the park.

'Lady Edith Crawley, for a meeting with Mr. Murray', she announced to the woman seated behind the desk.

The assistant left her in the waiting room and went to inform her master. In truth Edith had no idea why she was here. Any and all business to do with the family and financial matters would be addressed by her father or, failing that, with Mary on behalf of little George. _Not so little Edith,_ she reminded herself. George had started at Harrow the previous Autumn, looking for all the world a miniature of his father.

The assistant returned and ushered her into a sumptuous office, all heavy mahogany furniture and brass trimmings on artfully cluttered desks. It always helped to look like you belonged in the privileged world when you were attempting to persuade clients to allow you to invest their millions.

She greeted the family's man of business and took a seat, still none the wiser as to her reason for being here.

'Lady Edith', he began, 'As I'm sure you are aware I have been in charge of your family's financial concerns for many years.' She replied in the positive. She may not have been very interested in business but she knew that at least. And she had become far more business-savvy over the last few years with the newspaper. However she employed a man on a rather more modest salary, compared to what her father must be paying Murray, to handle things.

'What you may not be aware of is that I also handle business concerns for several other families.' Murray paused gauging her reaction, although what reaction he could have been expecting she couldn't say. Obviously he must do more than simply act as caretaker for her family's money, but she had never really given it much thought. She smiled in a manner she hoped could be construed as encouraging whilst surreptitiously glancing down at her wristwatch. Marigold would be home soon and she hated not being there when she arrived. Even if it meant taking work home with her she tried to be there.

Murray continued, 'One such family is a neighbour to you in Yorkshire, the Strallans.' Edith's glance flicked downwards, composing herself inwardly. This she had not expected.

'Please continue Mr. Murray, I can't quite understand what relevance this has to me.' Edith stated flatly, finally finding her voice.

The gentleman cleared his throat. 'I am not sure if you have been made aware, Lady Edith, of the recent passing of the owner of the estate, Sir Anthony.'

Her world stopped. Amazingly even after all these years he still had the ability to hurt her. She had forgiven him years ago, convinced that it was his stupid sense of duty and love for her that had persuaded him to do such a terrible thing, but she hadn't forgotten. Years living only a few minutes' drive away and she had never once seen him. Nor had anyone spoken of him apart from Aunt Rosamund's pointed barb over her lack of judgement. This first mention of his name in over ten years hit her like a physical force. The idea of him being gone, of the world being without that wonderful man seemed impossible.

She was unsure how long she spent in silent reverie but the world righted itself somewhat and Edith managed to look Murray in the eyes again, composing herself as best she could. Murray took that as his cue to continue. Most of what he was saying was a blur to her, he was speaking of the Strallan family and various relatives she had never heard of.

Her mind wandered back through the years to that spring morning, much like today, when she entered the church at Downton full of such hope, and the horrifying exit ushered quickly by her family out of the side door. Even all these years she couldn't remember what happened after she watched, tears blurring her vision, as the love of her life made an undignified exit from her life. She must have walked, or run, back to Downton and made her way upstairs but she had no recollection of it. She was under no illusions of what she had lost that day. She could never regret Marigold, nor the chain of events that led to her, she had been very fond of Michael, would certainly have married him if he had come back. But she hadn't loved him, not truly, certainly not as much as she had Anthony.

Even though she hadn't seen him since that awful day, she liked to live with the knowledge that he was alive and, hopefully, well in the world. Any world with Sir Anthony Strallan in it was better by definition. The idea that he too was gone, from her life many years ago, and now any chance of a meeting gone forever, was heartbreaking.

'In essence what I'm saying, Lady Edith,' she snapped her attention back to the portly man seated across the desk from her, 'is that Sir Anthony left no heirs and, as such, the baronetcy is now defunct. The estate, however, was never dependent on the title and was his to do as he wished. That is where you come in, Lady Edith.' He looked at her expectantly. She blinked, not comprehending what his point was.

'What I'm trying to say, Lady Edith, is that you are named as the sole beneficiary of Sir Anthony's will. Any and all property and personal possessions he had at the time of his death, including his town-house and the estate of Locksley, now belong to you.'

 **A/N. Please don't hate me! I love the idea of Edith and Anthony together but it's been more than two series now so it's pretty clear it's not going to happen. Although I could definitely see Anthony doing this if it were possible, he would still want to take care of Edith.**


	3. Chapter 3

Edith unlocked the front door - her front door, focusing for a moment on how truly ridiculous it was that she had lived at Downton for almost all of her life and yet never owned a key to the front door. Probably neither had either of her parents. A very strange thought that, when it came down to it, the servants one paid to do one's bidding actually had more power over the house than the actual owners.

She bypassed the downstairs, leaving an obviously delighted Margiold (if the sounds and baking smells emanating from the kitchen were anything to go by) to the cook, and slipped upstairs. Once safely ensconced in her room she opened a drawer and took out a photograph. A photograph that she had not looked at in a very long while, the two of them smiling at the camera, looking forward to a future that was never to be. However hard she tried the only feeling it could invoke now was love and compassion. She couldn't hold on to the resentment, or even briefly the hatred, she had felt for him. After all, she knew that everything he had done had been for her, however difficult it had been to understand at the time. This final action of his spoke to the truth of that more than anything else could. She wondered that he had never reached out to her after that day, even a letter of apology. But she had never heard from, nor seen him from that day to this.

She knew that he had obviously thought it for the best, but she couldn't help but see the irony in her new official status as owner of the house she had once thought she would preside over as mistress. The house was hers as surely as it would ever have been through their marriage, and, most probably, her eventual widowhood. She had just missed out on the intervening years. those years which, however much he refused to believe her, had always been her aim. She didn't care about the house or wealth, she never had. Only about him. And yet now she had everything but him. The expected turn of events in some ways, yet through the most unexpected course.

—

A matter of days later she had her final meeting with Mr. Murray. Apparently the law can be very efficient when it wanted to be, and in the case of a simple undisputed inheritance there were no delays. The papers and deeds were transferred legally to her and she left the office a far wealthier woman than she had entered. Edith was surprised that there had been no objections from his family. She had only met Mrs. Chetwood, Anthony's sister, once briefly and perhaps the lady herself was disinclined to launch a legal battle. But there was at least one son, a son who surely would want his uncle's estate and lands, especially considering how profitable it seemed to be. But there had been no word from anyone despite Murray's assurances that the family were fully aware of the circumstances of their lack of inheritance. She had considered contacting Mrs. Chetwood, but couldn't quite bring herself to do so. It would only dredge up past pain and she could see no point in it if the other party had obviously not wished to contact her.

And so it was she found herself on a train heading north. The journey she had done countless times before but with a different destination in mind this time. She hadn't informed her parents. It would only be a fleeting visit and she preferred to keep family visits to duty calls at Christmas and the like, when a certain security could be found due to the number of guests and her father's abhorrence at anyone 'making a scene.' It was usually safer then.

So, instead of being met by the Downton chauffeur at the station, she was met by a porter bearing the keys to her hired motorcar. She hadn't wanted to drive the whole way, however much she loved taking her car for long drives. She had bought herself an utterly adorable cherry-red, soft-top Ford Köln, which she cherished and her parents despised, partly for the car's German heritage but mostly for the independence it represented. If she ever chose to live in the country again it would be invaluable, but she wasn't quite up for cross-country drives, preferring the solitude of the train as it rattled her north.

Honestly she hadn't the faintest clue what she intended on doing with the house. The sensible choice would be to sell it and invest in a more permanent family home in London. A more sensible (if slightly callous) woman might not even have gone north to see it - preferring to organise an agent to oversee the sale and just take the proceeds - but Edith felt as though she owed it to herself, and to him, to visit before she made any decisions.

The familiar drive towards the house brought back the expected flood of memories and emotions but she kept her feelings under control as she drove up the sweep of drive towards the house. Pausing outside she could only focus on how welcoming the house seemed. It had never had the unwelcoming grandeur or stilted formality of Downton and so many of the houses of the aristocracy she had frequented in her earlier life. It was the warm, gingerbread-style family home she had always pictured. She could almost see him at the door, waiting for her with a fire ready in the library and tea on a tray. But the figure in the door melted into reality and became the butler, and she composed herself for the ordeal that was to come.

—

A couple of hours later she was safely ensconced in the parlour with a cup of tea. The housekeeper had insisted on giving her a tour of the house, perhaps not realising how unnecessary it was, and had wanted to show her all the aspects of the house a potential buyer would want to see. Edith couldn't care less about the monetary value of the house and its contents, the emotional value it contained far exceeded any potential financial gain. She couldn't quite bring herself to occupy the library yet. That would come later she was sure. But for now she was happy to simply relax and enjoy the beautiful house that, despite the unexpected turn of events, was hers.


End file.
